


hold my breath (until my heart explodes)

by ladybubblegum



Series: Memorium [1]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Episode: s05e03 The Death of Vibe, Gen, episode coda, everyone loves cisco in this fic except cisco, why did cisco go to his parents' house?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 03:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16824052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladybubblegum/pseuds/ladybubblegum
Summary: Vibe is dead, but Cisco Ramon must march on.





	hold my breath (until my heart explodes)

**Author's Note:**

> i was really REALLY mad that cisco straight up wasn't in episode 4 for literally NO reason other than a vague one-line quip about him "laying low" at his parents' house (because.......reasons i guess) so i started writing this
> 
> i created a series for this story because i might continue it but no promises

All that was left of Vibe were a pair of burnt-out gauntlets and the shattered remains of his goggles.

“A toast!” Ralph cried, lifting up his drink. It was his fifth toast of the evening and Cisco lifted his drink but tuned him out; he had run out of relevant topics three toasts ago, and his last one had been to _weird metahuman mumbo-jumbo_. Still, at least he wasn’t paying for his own drinks.

He took a long pull from his beer and set it back down without letting go of it.

The bar was busy but not packed, full of mostly the business crowd and college kids. A few people were gathered around the pool table, pretending to know how to play. In the far corner, a couple seemed to be attempting to swallow each other whole. The screens behind the bar were airing various sports, and Cisco was reminded of Dante for a brief moment.

He stood abruptly with a loud, grating scrape of the legs of his chair against the wood floor. His shoulder protested with a sharp jolt of pain; Caitlin had forbid him from drinking if he took the stronger painkillers, and the need to be drunk had won out.

"I need some air,” he announced with only a tiny tremor in his voice.

The air outside wasn't cold but it definitely wasn't as warm as the bar, the breeze nipping at his arms just a hair past comfortable. Cisco briefly wished he had taken up smoking, just to have something to do with his hands--now that he was out here, he didn't even know what he was planning to do.

After five minutes of awkwardly standing on the sidewalk, staring at the lit-up sign of the pizza place across the street, the bar door opened again to reveal a worried-looking Iris West-Allen.

"You drew the short straw, huh?” he asked her sharply by way of a greeting.

If she was bothered by his tone, she didn't say anything about it. "Are you okay?”

"Sure,” he replied, shrugging. He could feel the tears prickling the corners of his eyes, and he fought to keep them back. He'd spent enough time crying. "I'm alive. That's something, right? Vibe is dead but I'm still here. I should be grateful.”

"It's okay to be upset,” Iris told him. She placed her hand gingerly on his uninjured shoulder. "It’s been a long night and no one would blame you for wanting to take off, or if you want someone to bring you home. We're all glad you're okay. Vibe can be replaced, but Cisco Ramon definitely can't be. You have a lot of people here who care about you.”

“Yeah,” he replied hollowly, not looking at her. He lifted a hand and adjusted his too-light jacket around his brace. “I know.”

“Do you want us to bring you home?” Iris asked him, leaning over to put herself in his line of sight. “Barry can have you there in no time.”

He wanted to take her up on the offer, but the thought of spending an entire night in his dark, empty apartment made him feel off-balance and shaky. He didn’t know how to vocalize the feeling without feeling like a child; the last thing he needed after this shithole of a night was pity.

As it turned out, Iris West was pretty damn observant, because before Cisco could respond, she continued. “Or...maybe it would be best if you had someone with you. I have it on good authority that the couch not currently being occupied by my daughter is just as comfortable as hers, and if you happen to pop half a painkiller when you get there, Caitlin doesn’t have to be any the wiser.”

He had a sudden, inexplicable urge to say no. He wasn’t sure if it was out of a desire to suffer in silence or if it was his brain wanting to punish him for existing, but either way, he forced the feeling down and tried his best to smile at her.

“Sure.”

\---

Iris was right about the couch. When Barry wooshed the three of them to his apartment (with minimal jostling, which Cisco’s shoulder was grateful for), he deposited Cisco on one of the couches, and the second he sunk into the cushions, his entire body seemed to sigh in relief. He realized suddenly how much he’d been needing some rest; the cots in the med bay were state of the art, and comfortable considering they were cots, but with his injuries, there was nothing quite like real cushions.

“Nora won’t be out too late,” Barry told him once everything settled around them, his voice almost too fast to hear, “But I’ll text her to let her know she’ll have a roommate and she should come in quietly. I’ll grab a bag from your place, you want anything specific?”

Cisco shook his head; he didn’t really have anything in mind, and Barry knew what his favorite clothes anyway, so Cisco trusted his judgement. Barry grinned at him and whooshed away, leaving him and Iris in the silence of the living room.

“You want something to eat?” Iris asked him. “Barry got pizza pockets for Nora and apparently she hates them, so I was thinking of heating one up for myself. I could throw one in for you, if you want.”

He considered turning it down, but his stomach gave a sudden, loud growl. He gave iris a half smile and shrugged. “I guess I want. Thanks, Iris.”

As she turned toward the kitchen, Barry sped back in with a crackle of lightning and his grin still in place, one of Cisco’s backpacks slung over one shoulder. He dropped the bag on the floor next to the coffee table and collapsed on the couch next to Cisco.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, propping his feet up on the table.

Cisco shrugged. “My shoulder hurts but I’ll live.”

“Yeah, you’re tough as nails, man,” Barry said, and dropped his voice. “You know you can stay here as long as you need to.”

Cisco nodded and the two of them fell quiet, the only sounds in the room being the television and the clinking of plates from the kitchen. He’d spent a lot of time in this room over the last year or so, be it hanging out with Barry watching movies, or bringing over takeout for Iris during those dark few months that Barry had been--

“I think I’m gonna head to my parents’ place tomorrow night,” he announced, pulling himself out of his thoughts. He’d been considering it since sitting in the med bay, getting patched up.

Barry turned to him, frowning. “You sure?” he asked. “I really do mean it, you can stay here as long as you want. You’re always welcome here.”

“I know. I just…” Cisco trailed off, unsure of how to give voice to what he was feeling. “I need to be...away for a bit. Lay low. Regroup.”

The clink of a plate being placed on the coffee table startled him, making him jump. Iris stood in front of him, two more plates in her hands, one of which she handed to her husband.

“That might be good for you,” Iris told him. “I know you’ve been talking to them more lately.”

“You have?” Barry asked, still frowning. “I didn’t know that.”

Cisco nodded, reaching out for the plate, balancing it on his knee. The pizza pocket was still too hot to eat but he wanted something to do with his free hand. “Yeah. I go there sometimes.”

“Well, if you need to go, then you need to go,” Barry said, carefully dropping a hand on his shoulder. “If you need anything, let me know. I can be there faster than you can blink.”

Despite the storm of emotions warring in his head, Cisco smiled.

“Yeah. I know.”

\---

His parents’ house had changed over the years.

Growing up, it had always been full of pictures: of him, of Armando, of Dante. They used to cover the walls and litter every available surface. His mother would fawn over them, dust them almost obsessively at least twice a week. She’d bring out the giant, leather-bound albums and make sure they were prominently displayed whenever they were expecting company.

When his mother, silent and stone-faced, stepped back from the door to let him in, the first thing he noticed what that there wasn’t a picture frame in sight.

He adjusted his duffel bag on his good shoulder and took in the rest of the house. His dad was sitting on one of the couches, newspaper in his lap, but making no effort to pretend to be reading it. All of the lights were on, which was strange considering the sun would still be up for a few more hours; they had always been conscious of the power bill. He wondered vaguely when that had changed.

There were a few awkward moments in the three of them stared at each other quietly, before his mother broke the silence.

“I aired out your old room this morning when you called,” she told him softly. She was pointedly not looking at him. “It’s ready for you when you need it. We just ate dinner, leftovers are in the fridge.”

“You’re not even gonna ask,” he said, voice hollow, letting his duffel fall from his shoulder onto the floor.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, tearful and wide, and his chest seized up with guilt for just a moment. She shook her head as a tear fell. “I can’t do this with you today, Francisco,” she gasped, her voice breaking, throwing her hands up and stalking over to the stairs. “I’m going to bed.” With that, she was gone, the bedroom door upstairs slamming behind her.

He sat gingerly on the couch next to his dad. The painkillers Caitlin had given him were the good stuff and he wasn’t in any sharp pain, but sudden movements were still a bad idea.

His father stared at him evenly. “Your mother’s had a rough few years,” he said. “You call us out of nowhere and say you got into some kind of accident that you couldn’t describe and that you need to stay with us for a few days? You say you didn’t go to the hospital but you’re bandaged up like you were. We’re confused and worried. I thought you would have understood that.”

“I know,” Cisco told him quietly. “I’m sorry. I’ll...apologize to her in the morning.”

“Good,” his dad said, nodding once. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Now, if I ask you what happened, are you going to tell me the truth, or are you going to give me the same bullshit story you gave your mother?”

There was half a moment where Cisco almost wanted to actually tell him everything, about the Flash, about Vibe, about Cicada, about what he actually did when he went to work. The words lingered in his throat, buzzed at the tip of his tongue. It would be as much of a relief to let it out as it would be a terrible idea. Still, he could say it. Tell him everything and share his burden.

Instead, what he said was, “That was the truth. I got into an accident.”

Santino Ramon sighed and pushed himself off the couch. “Have it your way, Francisco. Good night.”

He left the room in the same direction as his wife, leaving Cisco with faded spots in the wallpaper where picture frames once hung, and a parade of his own worst thoughts.

\---

He awoke the next morning to two missed calls: one from Caitlin with an accompanying voicemail demanding he call her back so she could make sure he was reacting well to the painkillers, and one from Barry. Barry hadn't left a message, but he had sent a text that read, "how are things? you need a rescue?”

As he sat there, reading the text over and over, he suddenly wished he hadn’t left the West-Allens’ apartment. He slowly gathered the energy needed to haul himself carefully out of bed, and made his way downstairs.

The kitchen scene that greeted him was pulled straight from his childhood. His mother was bustling around, preparing what looked like eggs, his dad at the table reading a newspaper, the two of them discussing something he couldn't hear under their breaths. It was so familiar that he half expected Dante to come barrelling down the stairs, uniform shirt half unbuttoned and yelling that he was late for school.

When his mother saw him, she smiled as if nothing had ever happened. "Good morning, baby,” she greeted him. "Sit, breakfast is almost ready. How does your shoulder feel?”

"Uh, it's fine,” he told her, taken a little off guard. “Caitlin prescribed me something for it.”

“Oh, your doctor friend?” she asked. Cisco was honestly surprised she remembered. When she looked back at him, he nodded an affirmative. “I'm glad you have friends to take care of you.”

He smiled to himself as he sat at the table, thinking of the messages in his phone still waiting for his response. “Yeah, me too.”

She put a delicious smelling plate in front of him, and as he lifted the first bite to his mouth, she said, “Especially since you're determined to get yourself killed running around in that stupid outfit with the Flash, getting into fights.”

He choked immediately. She had a glass of water waiting for him.

Once his airway was clear, he wheezed, "I don't-I don't know what you-”

"You really thought your own mother couldn't recognize you in a pair of sunglasses?” 

She had a point. He sunk into his chair, cheeks burning. “The outfit wasn't stupid,” he mumbled. 

She rolled her eyes, “You looked like a biker with bad fashion sense.” His jaw dropped, but before he could respond, she held up a hand to stop him. “Why didn't you just tell us? I was hoping you had come here to be honest with us, but you…you lied right to my face.”

“It was a secret identity,” he told her. “Not very secret if I go around telling everyone.”

“I'm not _everyone_ ,” she snapped at him. “Giving me a heart attack like that. Next time you decide to become a superhero and then let everyone think you died, you call your damn mother first.”

Cisco smiled. “Next time, definitely.”

There was an awkward silence in which they ate without really looking at each other, and Cisco wondered if that would be the end of it. It would be on brand for his parents; it was the same when he got his scholarship for school, his first internship, the job at S.T.A.R. They would mention it off-hand, he would talk a little about it, his mother would poke a little harmless fun at him, and they would never bring it up again. He had hoped after Dante’s death they would be able to work toward some kind of closer relationship, but he supposed that had been wishful thinking.

His train of thought was broken by his mother placing her hand on his.

“We’re proud of you,” she said softly. “You know that, right?”

If he had been struck with lightning that very second, it wouldn’t have come as such a surprise. 

She lifted a hand and brushed his hair out of his eyes, letting it linger on his cheek. “My baby,” she said, tears gathering in her eyes, “Out there saving people. I wish your brothers were here to see you.”

“They are,” his father said gruffly from behind his newspaper. “You know they are.”

Unable to find any words that felt right, Cisco turned back to his breakfast, his heart lighter than it had been in years.

\---

After breakfast, he finally texted Barry back.

_nah, man, im good._

And for the first time in a long time, he felt like he meant those words.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me [on the tumblr as ladybubblegum](http://ladybubblegum.tumblr.com), feel free to drop into my ask box and say hi


End file.
